


The Plight

by HandleWithHare



Category: Good Omens, Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, good omens (tv )
Genre: Ailments, Angels, Death, Demons, France - Freeform, Hate, Illness, Love, M/M, Plague, The Black Death, ineffable husbands, plague in france
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 19:20:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20569547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandleWithHare/pseuds/HandleWithHare
Summary: Following Crowley and Aziraphale's life together, starting with the Black Death. Read to know more.





	The Plight

1346\. The pandemic known as the Black Death had seized all of Europe and Asia alike.   
The Ilk of France, a place a certain alabaster angel would frequent for the culture and food had been swept with the dispiriting ailment, and mankind had been all the indisposed to such a horrid event.

Aziraphale’s gloved hands had cradled the face of the woman that lay before him. The woman’s body twisted and twinge in pain as she disturbed the stale white sheets beneath her. The angel’s head fell to the side as he took in a meek breath, thumbing each blemish. A coal-like hue had been blotched along her fingers, and her chest had heaved each labored breath. The angel’s eyes had become overwrought with a perturbed look. Though, once he removed himself from that room and had taken to his mask, he had feigned that of assurance. “All is well, my dears…” he noted before dipping his head. The woman’s family, none the wiser had merely accepted his assuring tone once the ‘doctor’ took leave. Another patient that he had instilled a miracle cure within. 

Once Aziraphale had filled the hall with his presence, the clack of his shoes reverberating throughout the damp stone walls, he felt something having snagged his sleeve. The angel whirled around in a moment’s shock, eyes widened and pupils dilating before having realized it had been a familiar face, and the donned look of surprise had now been replaced with that of contentment. 

“Ah, Crowley! How wonderful for you to—“ and with a sharp and violent tone that sliced the angel’s gingered tone.   
“You fool! How, for hell’s sake, can you go about healing everyone!? Disease happens for a reason, and for you to miracle it away as if it were nothing will do NOTHING but interfere with a natural process!” the demon exclaimed with bemusement.   
To which Aziraphale’s face had suddenly slacked and his blanched brows furrowed forth, wrinkling the skin aloft, “Whatever do you mean Crowley!? This was not the work of my, nor your, side. And as far as I know, these humans have families that will certainly be in mourning if they lose them. These are mothers, fathers, sister, brothers, sons—“ and once more, the demon had cut him off…this time, with his slender hand erecting and signaling for him to halt.   
The angel hadn’t obeyed, his lip curling in a piqued manner. “Imagine we were human. And you lost me to this ailment. How would you feel then—?”  
Crowley tore his glasses from his face and felt his words coil in his chest, boiling as he listened to the angel’s words, “YOU KNOW NOTHING of being human, Aziraphale. Nothing. You were not CAST down for being TOO HUMAN”, and Crowley’s fervency in his developed anger was soon adopted by the very angel himself.   
“That is not why you fell and you know it! This has nothing to do with you Crowley! And if I may be so bold, I would not be shocked if your lot did this”. He quipped, and such crude words stung the cup of Crowley’s ears, whose fingers tightened against his palms until he felt his nails split skin and be embraced by the inner meat of his hand. The demon twisted away from Aziraphale’s gaze and he took leave, knowing damn well the next words to leave his mouth would be macabre. 

Aziraphale, as silent as ever, simply watched Crowley take leave, the clack of his shoes descend down the hall until becoming unheard entirely. Such a deafening sound. That of someone you hold dear parting ways from you. The angel himself had begun to walk his own path until a blinding light had unfurled and swathed Aziraphale as if it had been a shroud.   
Looking around, in undoubted confusion, the angel was met with the harsh purple hues of his comrade, to say the least, Gabriel. Who feigned a look of amusement and kindness, his brows crinkling forward as they followed his harsh eyes. Such a predatory look, “Aziraphale…” he began, in a manner of clearly mocked amusement, which had caused Aziraphale to grimace.   
\“May I ask—well as if I need your permission…, why in Heaven’s name, you are down there popping along and curing every human?” his words oozed from between his lips, in a venomous display, and the angel had offered no words. Knowing well Gabriel was nowhere near done. “Don’t you know that illness, even if its outsourced or even caused by the miscreants themselves, are one of our methods to keep the human population from…well…exploding? Those little rabbits are outdoing themselves and don’t know when to stop. I know I don’t need to ask, and I just need to tell you to STOP. HEALING. THEM” he bellowed, causing the angel to nearly shrink back into his own skin, having offered a nervous smile and a meek nod to appease his authority, before having blinked away the blinding luminosity.   
Aziraphale had been returned to his former location, a damp and dim hall laminated with various stones.

Aziraphale wouldn’t stop, he would simply be more discreet in his methods.


End file.
